


Warmth: Or, Being Loved

by joplin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joplin/pseuds/joplin
Summary: Just a sweet little ficlet from the prompt: Cas likes to be barefoot, but his feet are cold!(Cas is learning to love being human, but Dean just wants to take care of him.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Warmth: Or, Being Loved

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always for reading, and please let me know if you have any prompts you'd like me to do! xx

Cas had decided to view this as a lesson in temperament.

He had always loved being barefoot; it was probably his favorite thing about taking a human vessel. Being able to feel rough stone, soft dirt, _cool grass_ beneath his feet… it always made him feel so connected to the earth. It made him feel _alive_.

So, when he had become human, he decided his first order of business would be to relearn the world through his feet. The absence of his grace was still palpable and raw, but it was almost worth it for how _electric_ everything felt through humanity. And when Dean had realized what Cas was doing, he had dropped everything and driven all night to take him to Salt Lake, muttering wildly about how “angels don’t feel temperature.” Cas had insisted that it could wait— that he had _felt sand before, Dean_ — but of course Dean had been right. When Cas took his first step onto the grainy sundrenched beach, he had actually gasped aloud from the feeling of the warmth between his toes. At this revelation, Dean had positively beamed—and then promptly buried Cas up to his knees, only freeing him to go let the water lap at his ankles.

Of course, the obvious and unfortunate downside to all this was that he could now feel _cold_ also.

They had yet to move out of the bunker, with its old cement and tile floors, and in the summer, Cas had loved the cool stone under his feet. Dean, however, had formed a habit of materializing without warning, gruffly offering socks of increasing volume and thickness. All this achieved, though, was creating small piles of abandoned socks all around the bunker, as Cas hadn’t had the heart to refuse them outright, and also didn’t want to put them on. Though as winter approached, the stone had started to bite at him with each step, until he learned what it felt like for toes to go numb. But still he refused the infinite wool socks, which now seemed to appear almost on their own, preceding him into rooms with a nearly alarming frequency.

He refused because he was adamant that there was a lesson to be learned here, and though he couldn’t quite figure out what it was, he thought he was getting closer. Cas wanted to _feel_ , and he understood that sometimes feeling was unpleasant. He understood that meaningful, beautiful things could still hurt. So, he continued to walk the halls barefoot, even as Dean’s eyes twitched over his blanched feet, because it continued to make him feel… _something._ Stable, perhaps. It kept him aware of his condition— of the incredible nature of human survival at its most basic.

And Cas was contemplating all of this now, sitting stoically in the library, when Dean once again appeared before him.

“Dean,” Cas heard himself beam.

“ _Sit,_ ” Dean practically growled, level determination in his eyes. “I _am-_ ” Cas started, earnest and confused, but a scowl cut him off again. “Then _stay_ ,” the hunter grumbled, kneeling onto the floor and grabbing one of Cas’s ankles. “I’m not putting up with this anymore, Cas,” he continued as he began forcing a pair of frankly enormous green knit socks onto the former angel’s feet. “You’re gonna get _pneumonia,_ and you’ve barely even been human, so I’m not gonna let you die of a cold just because you’re _stubborn,_ do you hear me?”

Cas blinked at him. He should have seen this coming, really. Dean had always tried to take care of him, even when he had been roughly immortal. So, for all the beauty Cas was trying to find in his new human fragility, he should have known that it would drive poor Dean to a breaking point sooner or later. So he allowed the socks to be put on this time, and he smiled softly to realize what a lucky human he was. He had panicked, in the beginning, when he realized he wouldn’t be able to watch over Dean the way he always had before, but he had since found comfort in realizing that Dean relished being able to reverse the roles and watch over Cas.

He placed one hand softly on Dean’s cheek; he loved the way the stubble scratched at his fingertips now. Dean huffed in faux agitation as he started rubbing one of Cas’s feet between his hands, determined to stir up warmth.

Cas would have chuckled then, if he weren’t so moved. He placed his free hand on Dean’s other cheek and kissed him lightly; Dean’s hands froze. “Thank you,” Cas whispered, trying to meet Dean’s lowered eyes.

He huffed again, but Cas caught the smile that quirked at his lips, and—heaven above—felt the _heat_ from the flush playing across his face. He let his fingers trail indulgently down Dean’s cheek, as Dean himself settled into the floor and switched feet.

Could a person die of love? Cas still felt like he might, even though the internet had assured him that, no, that didn’t happen.

So he allowed himself to gaze at the freckled face bent in front of him and felt his heart ache in a way that was becoming beautifully familiar. Maybe, it struck him, he had been looking for a lesson in the wrong place.

Cas knew, after all, that there were many things to feel in the world, and he looked forward to learning them all. But now, in this moment—warm and soft and _here_ —he also knew he had already learned the very best thing he would ever feel: _loved_.


End file.
